


things you say at one a.m.

by artificialmeggie (ohmymeggs)



Series: things you say [1]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Fluff, Implied Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 14:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19793239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmymeggs/pseuds/artificialmeggie
Summary: It’s one in the morning, but Monet feels like it’s three in the afternoon after a month Down Under, and Nina is tucked protectively under his arm, head on his shoulder, arms around his chest.





	things you say at one a.m.

**Author's Note:**

> In an effort to bust out of a writing slump and in response to someone asking for more Monet/Nina (umm always), this happened. Thank you, Mia, for prereading. And for everything else.

****Monet has insomnia. Has since he was probably 18 or so.

He’s used to it. It isn’t ideal, especially when you spend most of your time traveling and need to catch precious sleep whenever you can, but he copes. He deals. He meditates—sometimes that helps—he medicates if it doesn’t, usually with an edible of some kind. (Indica puts him in-da-couch faster than just about anything else.)

But sometimes, when he’s back from Europe or South Africa, or Australia, like this week, and his sleep schedule is really fucked, nothing helps.

So it’s one in the morning, but Monet feels like it’s three in the afternoon after a month Down Under, and Nina is tucked protectively under his arm, head on his shoulder, arms around his chest. He’s sleeping, light snores rattled through his chest and buzz against Monet’s own.

Monet is the kind of tired where your bones ache beneath your skin and you can’t sleep despite being able to feel every tendon shift with every movement, but he can’t help but smile.

The month they’d spent apart was the longest separation they’d had since officially becoming a couple, and it hadn’t been easy for either one of them.

Monet changed his flight home on the third day of the tour. He would stop in Columbus instead of going straight home to New York. What was a few more days? 

Bob had rolled her eyes and called him pussy-whipped. Monet had scoffed and called Bob jealous. Sisters argue.

Nina met him at the airport, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket like the suburban dad cliche he was, and Monet had practically tackled him, squeezed him, slotted their mouths together for a languid, deep kiss right there at baggage claim.

He’d showered while Nina cooked, and after dinner, they’d done their best to wear each other out, to make up for lost time, to commit each other’s bodies to muscle memory so their inevitable next time apart (Nina’s heading to Europe in a few weeks) is easier and the distance will feel less suffocating.

Lips, teeth, mouths, and hands on skin. Smooth circles rubbed into Nina’s flesh and deep red scratches on Monet’s back. Half-moon bruises bloom under indentations on their thighs and waists and throats. Whispers of “I missed you” and “I’m so glad you’re here” pressed against shoulders and clavicles and vertebrae. 

But Monet is still awake—completely satisfied, deliciously happy, fucked out, but _awake_.

Nina rustles against him and moans softly.

“Shh,” Monet strokes his hand down Nina’s cheek trying to soothe him.

The older man’s eyes flutter open, and he blinks in confusion before that radiant smile that Monet is completely gone for spreads across his lips, straight to his eyes, straight to Monet’s heart.

“Hey,” he says sleepily. “You’re really here. Thought I’d dreamed you.”

They kiss gently, softly, as if Nina needs reassurance that Monet is solid and here in his bed, in Columbus motherfucking Ohio. (Monet needs it too.)

“Nah.” Monet chuckles as he pulls away, rubs a thumb across Nina’s jaw. “I’m really here, baby. And I’ll be here in the morning. You ain’t getting rid of me that easy. Go back to sleep.”

Nina nods and readjusts his position, tangling their feet together under the blankets. “‘M glad you’re here,” he mutters, the edges of sleep already sinking back into his consciousness.

Monet traces nonsensical patterns into Nina’s scalp. “Me too.” Insomnia isn’t as lonely when you’re holding your sleeping lover, listening to them breathe, wondering if they’re dreaming of you.

Then it’s quiet, the only sound in the room is Nina’s soft breathing, which Monet knows will fade into snores as Nina slips deeper into unconsciousness. He doesn’t mind. Finds it endearing. Something to cling to and depend on when the darkness starts to press in around him. He’s reaching for his phone when—

“I love you…” Nina breathes against Monet’s bare chest.

And he stops moving; right hand freezes in midair between their bodies and the nightstand; the fingers of his left hand stop their ministrations against Nina’s scalp. He takes in a deep, shuddering breath. Because for all their teasing, for as much as they care for each other, as much as they discuss a hypothetical future in which Nina convinces Monet to see the beauty of Ohio (doubtful) or Monet talks Nina into moving to Brooklyn (unlikely), they’ve never _said_ it.

It’s never been vocalized. Understood, hinted at, danced around, communicated through touch, gifts, glances, kisses, but silenced.

Monet loves Nina, he knows this. Knows Nina loves him too. But hearing it? Even from a half-asleep and thoroughly exhausted Nina is a shot of adrenaline straight to his bloodstream.

_Nina loves him and he said it._

“I love you, too,” Monet mumbles, but his words are swallowed in the sound of Nina’s snores that echo through the room.

So they’ve said it. Monet grins. They’ll say it again. But he can’t help but laugh a little and rub his bleary eyes. _Because they are in love_.

When Monet finally falls asleep an hour later, he dreams of a future with Nina (they live in Florida, close to Disney World), and he sleeps soundly and peacefully for the rest of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr @ artificialmeggie. Come say hello!
> 
> I welcome your comments here or there.


End file.
